


The Hunter

by cestlestialbeings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28186500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cestlestialbeings/pseuds/cestlestialbeings
Summary: A mysterious "hunter," John, saves her from a ghost. She's in college; he's twice her age. But she really, really wants him, and with any luck, something will happen.
Relationships: John Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	The Hunter

I’m sitting on my living room couch, anxiously biting my fingernails and hoping the salt circle around me does its job, when there’s a knock on the door. I jump up. It could only be John, the “hunter” who’d shown up a few days ago, introducing himself initially as FBI Agent Carrel, asking questions about the strange happenings around my house, and later revealing it was haunted by a ghost. A ghost!

Still, I’m jumpy from my recent encounter with the a murderous ghost a few hours before. “Who is it?” I call, hopefully loud enough to make it through the wall.

“It’s John,” a voice says from the other side.

I hop out of my salt circle and go unbolt and unlock the door. When I open it, John’s standing there. It’s dark, almost midnight, but the porch lights of my small, out-of-the-way home light up him up just enough for me to tell that he’s looking a little worse for wear: dirt on his clothes, scratches on the side of his face, the t-shirt under the flannel torn in several places.

“The ghost is taken care of,” he tells me. “Bones salted and burned. You’ll be safe now.” I feel a wave of relief. _Safe._ And then, unexpected, a brief wave of disappointment. The ghost is gone, which means John is going to leave now. After all he’s helped me through, after the inexplicable attraction that grew during the few days he’s been here…

He turns to leave, but I grab his jacket sleeve. “Wait,” I say. “I’m… Can you… Can you stay the night?” His face is totally stoic, not betraying any emotion, so I rush on. “I know the ghost is gone, but can you stay, just in case it’s not, somehow? It would make me feel a lot better.” It’s partly true. This big, old house I’d inherited from my aunt, full of spooky vibes (which turned out to be totally valid), is far from anyone who could help if something happened. But I also can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, something would happen if he stayed.

The corner of his mouth turns up slightly and I feel a flutter of butterflies in my stomach. I flash a quick smile back at him, relieved he didn’t reject me outright.

“I can keep a watch out from outside,” he says, nodding to his car, which is, despite being at least three decades old, gorgeous.

I shake my head. “No, you don’t need to actively watch out for anything, so you should stay inside. I just want someone nearby. Just in case. It’s no trouble, really.” There’s a slight edge of pleading creeping into my voice and I hope I’m not coming off as desperate.

A long moment passes before he nods. “All right. If it would make you feel safer.”

I open the door more fully and gesture for him to come in. “I can set up the sofa for you to sleep on. Or…” I pause and bite my lip. Could I be so forward? He watches me, eyebrows slightly raised. “Yeah. Sofa,” I quickly say, ducking my head and going to grab some sheets from the closet.

He sits patiently at the table on the tiled part of the room, waiting while I set up. I straighten up after tucking in the fitted sheet, feeling self-conscious. “Can I, uh, get you something to drink?” I ask. He shakes his head, so I go back to putting the sheets on. I can still feel his eyes on me while I work.

“Okay, all done here,” I say. “I guess I’m going to head to bed.”

Another small, barely-smiling smile. He stands up and takes off his leather jacket. _I should go_ , I think as he drapes his jacket over the chair and starts unbuttoning his flannel, but now’s my only chance. I should say something. He’ll be gone tomorrow morning, and I want him, I really, really want him.

He pulls off the flannel shirt and drops it on top of his jacket. I try to keep my mouth from dropping open. He’s in just a t-shirt now, his muscular biceps visible. Wow. He raises his eyebrows at me again, and I quickly turn and walk quickly into my room. I don’t have the guts to do anything. A tough guy like him? He wouldn’t be interested in a soft college girl like me.

I stand in front of my closet a little too long trying to decide what to wear. He’ll probably see me in the morning, so I want to look good. But not too good, like I’ve been trying. And it has to be something that makes me look mature. I pick out a satin tank/shorts combo. Yeah, this is good.

I try to get to sleep after that, I really do—if I can’t work up the courage to make something happen, I might as well get some rest—but how am I supposed to sleep knowing he’s just down the hall, a couple doors away? I toss and turn for an hour before I finally flip on the light and sit up in bed. God, I could use a drink. Just something small, to help me get to sleep.

I open my door as quietly as I can and slip into the hall, trying not to wake John. But I’m surprised to see the light still on at the end of the hall. I pad down the hallway, wondering what he’s still doing up. After digging up a grave and stopping a ghost, he must be exhausted.

When I reach the living room, I see he’s sitting at the table flipping through an old book with an open, half-finished bottle of Jack next to him. He looks up when he sees me. His eyes roam up my body, taking in my appearance, but he quickly looks away. I savor the warm feeling that spreads through me from seeing him looking.

“Hey,” I say. “Couldn’t sleep. Looks like you couldn’t either?”

He lets out a low, short laugh. “Usually can’t.”

I walk over and sit down next to him. “Can I?” I nod towards his bottle of booze.

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

“I’m twenty-two!” I say. Hearing it out loud, it sounds ridiculous, and I blush. I’m trying to impress this older man, and I just emphasized my immaturity.

He looks at me for a moment before nodding. “Help yourself.”

I get up and grab a couple of whiskey glasses from the counter before sitting back down and filling them halfway up. “Cheers,” I say, raising mine up. He picks up his glass and lightly taps it against mine, and we both down our whiskey. I crinkle my nose at the strength of it, burning all the way down to my stomach. It doesn’t take long for a light buzz to start running through me.

“So what are you reading?” I ask, peeking over at his book.

He rubs his eyes. “Demon lore.”

“Demons?” I ask. “Those exist?”

“Yes.”

“Have you seen one?” I’m curious. What do they look like?

There’s a long pause. He clenches his jaw. “Yes.”

I can tell it’s personal, so I don’t press. I pour another glass and sip at it. John’s back to reading his book now. At least he’s _trying_ to read. His eyes are moving back and forth, but they’re staying at the top of the page, like he’s not processing the words enough to move on to the next line.

“You saved my life, you know,” I say.

He looks up at me. “It’s part of my line of work.”

Yeah, a line of work that’s far from easy. I lightly place my hand over his, avoiding touching his red and torn knuckles. “I mean it.” I lightly run my fingers across the back of his hand in a way that I hope is getting across what I’m hoping for tonight.

He inhales sharply and pulls his hand out from underneath mine. “You’re so young.”

I frown. “I’m an adult.”

“I should get some rest,” he says, standing up. I stand up quickly too, and he’s close now, so close, less than a foot separating us. Up close he smells like leather and sweat and blood, a combination that has absolutely no right to be so intoxicating. I set a hand lightly on his chest. I look up—he’s got at least eight inches on me—and meet his eyes. His brow is furrowed as he studies my face.

“What are you doing?” he murmurs.

My hand slides up and around to the back of his neck, pulling him down to me. I press my lips against his. He kisses back, slowly, hesitantly, then pulls away. “You’re so young,” he repeats.

“I’m old enough.” My hand is still on his neck, and I lightly run my fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes. “Please. I want you,” I say, probably coming off as desperate, but not caring.

He shakes his head. “This isn’t a good idea.”

I bite my lip. His body, so close to mine, is making it hard to think. “It’s just one night,” I say.

He looks up and away, a torn look on his face.

“Please?” I say again.

His jaw sets. He’s come to a decision. I only hope…

He leans down and kisses me. Harder this time. Hungrier. His tongue runs lightly across my upper lip, pressing for an invitation. I open my mouth slightly and his tongue meets mine. My hand slips from the back of his neck to the side of his face. There’s a slight prickle of stubble against my skin, and want floods through me. His masculinity—in the way he feels, the way he smells, the way he tastes—is overwhelming in the best way.

His hand comes to rest lightly on my hip and then slowly works its way up under my top. He runs a thumb over my breast, gently grazing the nipple, and I let out a soft moan. I’ve been with other men, men my age, but it’s never felt like this. I’ve never felt so much desire.

I pull back for just a moment to pull off my top, fully bare for him. I tug at the bottom of his t-shirt, and he pulls it off. I run a hand up slowly through his chest hair, bringing my palm to rest on his jaw.

“Bedroom?” I whisper between kisses.

He nods, wrapping his arms around my hips and lifting me up. I wrap my legs around his waist and he holds me like I weigh nothing. God, he’s strong. His lips never leaving mine, he walks us down the hall and into my bedroom, only bumping a couple picture frames off the wall as we go.

When we get to my room, he pulls away just long enough to see where the bed is and then deposits me on it. He’s standing above me, eyes wild and wanting, and desire courses through me. I squeeze my legs together tightly for a second, a futile attempt to relieve the pressure building between them.

His fingers run along the band of my shorts and he makes eye contact with me, waiting for permission. I nod, and he slowly starts to pull them down, trailing kisses from between my breasts to down between my legs. Lower, and lower, until he gets… there.

I hold back a moan, arching slightly at the pleasure as his tongue stimulates me. A finger slips between my legs and slides into me and I bite my lip, squeezing my eyes shut. Oh, god. I’m getting closer, closer… Too close.

“Mm. John, wait,” I say, and he pauses and looks up at me, eyes still dark with desire. Fuck. “I want you inside me.”

He grins at me, more expressive than he’s been all week. He climbs up on the bed over me, lowering his head to kiss me. I didn’t think I’d like the taste of myself, but on his lips… God, I can’t get enough.

I struggle to undo his belt, distracted by the kiss. I feel his lips curl upwards against mine and then he pulls back for a moment, just long enough to undo his belt and slip out of his pants and boxer briefs.

I’m dazed, my whole body feeling hyper-sensitive and electrified. I run my eyes down him. Eyes filled with lust, scruffy beard, muscled, hairy chest, and… Wow. I lick my lips. “Condom. Top nightstand drawer.”

I lie back as he rifles through the drawer and pulls out a condom. He leans over and tears open the packet with his teeth. Goddamn. My hand drifts down towards between my legs to relieve the want building in me, but he grabs my hand and pins it next to my head. He shakes his head. “That’s my job, sweetheart.”

He drops my hand and slips on the condom. He trails a finger across the sensitive area between my legs—oh _fuck_ —and slowly up my torso, coming to rest over my breast.

“Inside me,” I repeat.

He laughs softly. “No patience.”

“Please?”

He smiles again and adjusts himself. I feel him brush up against my opening, the whole area wet and ready. He bends down to kiss me and then pushes inside.

I turn and let out a satisfied exhale into John’s neck.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he growls. He pumps in and out, slowly at first, and then faster. He presses up against my clit with each thrust and I gasp, pressing my head back into the bed. It feels so good it’s almost painful.

He runs a tongue up my breast, across my collarbone, to the side of my neck. I put my hand on his cheek and guide him up to my mouth, kissing him, short, hungry kisses as he continues to move against me.

I’m close. I’m close. I’m… I inhale sharply. “Oh, fuck. Fuck.”

“You there, sweetheart?” he murmurs into my ear, his voice hoarse.

“Yes. Nnnn. Fuck.” My eyes are squeezed shut as I ride it out, pleasure pulsing through my whole body. He feels so good still. So damn good, even when it’s too— _almost_ too—much.

He thrusts in one more time and freezes, a shudder passing through him. “Mm.” He drops his head, breathing hard.“Fuck.”

I laugh breathlessly. “No kidding.”

He pulls out and lies down next to me. We stare at the ceiling for what must be a couple of minutes, the sounds of us catching our breath the only noise in the room.

My breath slows enough for me to talk, but I’m still close to speechless. “That was… Thanks.”

He doesn’t reply. When I look at him, he’s still looking at the ceiling, a relaxed look on his face. He senses me looking and turns his head, giving me a slight smile. I smile back, a much bigger, more obvious smile.

I move myself up the bed a couple of feet so my head is over my pillow and climb under the sheets. I pat the pillow next to me, and John follows my lead and slips under the sheets with me. Now that the pleasure’s fading, sleepiness is starting to wash over me.

I snuggle up against him, the little spoon to his big spoon.

“Do you regret it?” he says softly.

I roll over so I’m face to face with him. “Regret it?”

He still looks relaxed, tired like me, but there’s a hint of doubt in his eyes. “Sex. With me.”

“Are you kidding?”

He doesn’t respond, just holds my gaze steadily.

I can feel a blush rising to my cheeks as I say, “Of course I don’t regret it. That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He looks placated, though a hint of what looks like guilt lingers. “Glad to hear it, sweetheart.”

I run a hand over the coarse hair on his chest, pressing a kiss to his lips. My eyes start to drift shut in tiredness and I blink them back open, throwing him an embarrassed smile—I know my face is far from attractive when I sleep. I roll back over, and he drapes his arm over my hips.

I’d started my evening afraid of being killed by a ghost, but now I couldn’t feel more secure, here in the arms of a man who I know can protect me.

—

When I wake up, John’s side of the bed is empty and cold. The couch has been unmade, the sheets put away. Besides the two dirty whiskey glasses and an extra set of tire treads in the driveway, there are no signs he was ever here at all.

I’m disappointed he’s gone, but I’m glad I got a chance to spend the night with him. I’ll be holding on to this memory for a long time, stowed away for when I need a little release.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts and constructive criticism welcome. Thank you for reading :)


End file.
